Everywhen: (Savage Princess book 1) Read online

  Once upon a time, everything fell apart.

  Everywhen

  Savage Princess: Book one

  Liberty Freer

  Copyright © 2020 Liberty Freer

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real locations are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. (This also includes the cover image and/or cover model(s) appearing on the cover. The context of this book does not in any way depict the personal life said cover model(s). Image is licensed and used purely for fictional purpose only.)

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotation in a book review.

  Cover Designer: Dark City Designs.

  Edited by: My brother’s editor.

  Proofread by: Moonlight proofreading

  Contents

  Copyright © 2020 Liberty Freer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Note from the author:

  About the author:

  Chapter 1

  The sheet is ripped away from my body. The air from the fan cools down the exposed skin on my legs and back. Covered in sweat, I’m on my stomach and sprawled across the twin-size bed. God, I hate this bed. Each spring digs into my skin, and every morning I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

  “Get up. We’re going to be late. You promised me, Hayley.”

  I groan into my pillow. “Late for what?” I lift my head, brushing unruly hair from my face so I can see my sister. She’s wearing the knee-high, soft pink dress she wore to my high school graduation last year. The fact that it still fits her is proof that she isn’t going to grow anymore. I should rub it in her face that I was right when I told her she wasn’t going to be taller than the five-foot-one that she is, but her angry expression has me biting my tongue.

  A white headband keeps her bangs out of her light blue eyes, and her dark blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail, the end reaching the middle of her back. Her simple pink dress and petite stature have her looking twelve rather than almost sixteen.

  I roll on to my back, and the breeze from the fan cools down my sweaty stomach. “Why are you dressed up?”

  Tilly rips the pillow from under my head and tosses it at the foot of the bed. “You forgot? Oh my god, Hayley! You suck! I reminded you last week. Get up. We need to go.” Glaring at me, she crosses her arms. “I’m glad I had Margo’s mom bring me home early. You have the worst memory.”

  She’s right about that. I’m a scatterbrained mess. Sleep deprivation will do that. I sit up, swinging my legs over the mattress. “Late for what?” I grab my phone from the dresser that’s crammed between our beds. “Fuck, it’s only eight. I’m working tonight. I had my alarm set for ten.” I rub my eyes. I was up until four in the morning, tossing and turning. The new sleeping pills I got from the doctor aren’t working, but I wasn’t expecting them to. The prescription before this didn’t either.

  “The interview.” She grabs my arm, straining to pull me up because she’s so much smaller than me. “You need to get dressed.”

  Brushing her away, I get to my feet and stretch. “That’s still on? I thought they found her?”

  Tilly rummages through the dresser drawers and then throws purple fabric at me. “There was a mix-up. It turned out it wasn’t her.”

  I hold up the ugly ass blouse and then toss it back. “How does that happen?” With the Westlings being such a wealthy family, one would think they’d have the best people working on finding their long-lost daughter. I adjust my sports bra and then bump Tilly out of the way so I can grab my favorite band tee from the floor. I pull it over my head and kick my pajama bottoms off. I wiggle into black skinny jeans that have rips over the tops of my thighs.

  Tilly’s pink lips pull down. “You can’t wear that. Nobody will believe you’re Anna Westling if you go looking like that.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re the one who wants to be Anna.” I grab the spare keys from the top of the dresser and shake them. “I’m just the ride.”

  Tilly huffs. “You promised you’d interview with me, that we’d do this together.”

  “And I am. That doesn’t mean I think I am or even want to be Anna.” I groan thinking about the thousands of girls between the ages of fifteen and twenty-one that will be there. It’s going to be a fucking madhouse. I slip my feet into my checkered Vans and then throw my hair up into a messy bun. “Gotta brush my teeth.”

  Tilly crosses her arms and taps her foot. “Hurry up.”

  “Yes, boss,” I mumble even though there’s no point in hurrying. If it’s anything like the past interviews I’ve seen on TV, people will have started lining up before the sun. The interviews are legendary. Tilly has been begging to go since the Westlings started hosting them two years ago, but none were close enough to home until now. I guess that’s a perk of moving in with our grandma and not going to stay with Aunt Kathy in her much bigger house hundreds of miles away in Texas.

  After brushing my teeth, I splash cold water on my face, trying to clear the fog from my brain. I’m going to need some major caffeine. The bathroom door rattles as Tilly bangs on it and yells for me to hurry up. I swing it open and brush past her, but she’s right next to my side a second later. “Bring something to keep busy. It’s going to be a long-ass wait.” She’s a talker, and if she doesn’t bring something to keep herself entertained, I’ll be fucked.

  Tilly smirks, leaning against the doorframe while I dig under my bed. “Or we’ll get moved to the front of the line because you fit Anna’s description to a T, and you actually look like Aiden. You could totally be his missing twin.”

  “I look like a lot of people, Tilly.” And it’s true. When I was little, I went through a phase of comparing myself to every person with brown hair and blue eyes. Like most adopted kids, we have aunts, uncles, cousins, and half-siblings out in the world that we have never met.

  “If we get moved to the front of the line, I’ll give you my leather jacket.” I laugh because there is no way that’s happening. I find the small fireproof safe I was looking for and set it on the bed.

  Tilly grins, and I almost feel like giving her my jacket. She’s been smiling so much less since Mom died.

  “You’re on,” she says. “Now for real, hurry up.” She rolls her eyes and walks away.

  So impatient. I guess it is every little orphaned girl’s dream to find out you’re royalty, and in this case, literally. Anna Westling’s mother, Nora Westling, is a princess of Sweden… No, Switzerland, or was it Finland? Wherever she’s from, Anna Westling was kidnapped from her American home at the age of three, leaving behind her mother, father, and two brothers, one her twin. I think the Westlings had another kid a few y
ears ago. There hadn’t been much about them in the news until the interviews. Maybe they started holding them for publicity. Most everyone thinks Anna is dead.

  I grab our adoption papers from the safe, place them in my green crossbody bag, and then head into the living room. Tilly’s sitting on the floral couch, and Nana’s on the recliner, explaining in every boring detail the proper way to crochet the ugly blanket she’s working on.

  Tilly looks at me and frowns. “Can you at least change your shirt? They aren’t going to believe you’re one of them if you don’t look like it.”

  “We aren’t trying to convince them, Til.” I laugh. “You want me to lie my way in?”

  She pops a shoulder.

  “Where are you girls going?” Nana asks, not bothering to look up from her sole purpose in life: her yarn.

  “The Westling interview, Nana.” Tilly says. “I told you about it the other day.”

  Nana scratches the back of her head, careful not to bump one of the many pink rollers in her hair. “Westling? That actor? You going to the movies?”

  “Something like that, Nana. I’m taking your car.” She opens her mouth, but I’m quicker. “I’ll have your car back in time for you to go to bingo.” I pull Tilly out the door and head for the silver sedan in the driveway. My sister’s bright smile will be worth the torture I’m about to endure. Thousands of groupies, here we come.

  Chapter 2

  I’ve never seen so many brunettes in one spot, but I bet half of them have dyed their hair to fit the part of what Anna Westling would look like. This is my first time at the Chattanooga Convention Center, and I didn’t know it would be so big. When I first walked in, it reminded me of an airport with wide-open walkways, signs posted on every wall, and escalators and bathrooms galore.

  Tilly and I followed signs that led us to exhibit room D. Apparently, rooms A, B, and C are full. About twenty girls have come in since we got to this room an hour ago, and we waited in a line outside for an hour before getting in. There are at least two hundred girls in this room. There aren’t tables or chairs, so some of the girls have dropped down to sit on the floor, including me. Tilly is still standing, eyes scanning the room constantly. I’m tempted to lie back and try to sleep, but the constant chatter of all the girls would probably prevent that.

  Tilly tried to make me stand when men walked into the room a few minutes ago, plucking girls from the crowd and directing them out of the room. Either the girls snuck in or they are Anna look-alikes and are moving ahead. We had to show our papers at the door to enter, and we were told we’d have to show them again at the actual interview.

  “My ass hurts. They could have set up chairs,” I mumble. I never had a chance to get caffeine, so I feel like shit. “I’ll give it one more hour, Til.”

  She ignores me, standing on the tips of her toes trying to see over everyone. I know who she’s looking for, who all these girls want to see, Aiden Westling, Nick Cabot, and Casey Brooks. It’s kind of sick. They are crushing on Aiden but also want to be his sister. I don’t see what the big deal is. Yes, Aiden Westling is attractive and a multi-millionaire, but I’ve never seen a picture of him smiling. He always looks pissed off.

  His best friends, Nick and Casey, are always by his side. They usually look grumpy as fuck too. I’d think they were in some kind of threesome relationship if it wasn’t for Casey’s on and off again relationship with Morrisa Shay, some pop singer who I don’t listen to. Maybe Nick and Aiden are together like the rumors suggest. I’ve never seen them photographed with any girls.

  I elbow Tilly in the shin. She keeps losing her balance and bumping into me. “Quit. Aiden isn’t going to slum it in exhibit room D.”

  The girl in front of me turns her head to glare before lifting her chin and facing away again. She tried talking to me about thirty minutes ago, but I cut that shit off quick. No way am I going to spend my time making pointless conversation with a stranger.

  Tilly scoffs. “He’s here somewhere. He attends every event.” She moves out from the line, raising her hands in the air, and then her piercing scream bounces off the walls, freezing me and everyone in the room. She doesn’t stop until I jump up and slap my hand over her mouth.

  “What the hell?” I growl. I look around thinking maybe she saw Aiden but the only males in the room are the two meaty security guys.

  My skinny little shit sister wiggles out of my hold and skirts to the side, jumping up and down with her arms waving wildly above her. “Anna’s over here! Hey!”

  Now I see what she’s doing. She didn’t see Aiden. One of the bodybuilder guys is close and this crazy bitch is trying to get his attention. She must be desperate for my jacket. I hold in my smile. Even though I hate that everyone’s staring at us, I’m glad to see my sister’s spitfire personality shining through.

  The girl in front of me whispers to the girl in front of her, but all I pick up is crazy. They both giggle, and I feel my face heating up. “What’d you say?” I crouch down next to the girl that tried to start a conversation with me earlier. She’s my age, or maybe a year younger. “Are you talking shit about my sister?”

  Her small face pales. “No.” Her voice comes out in a squeak.

  I roll my eyes, losing some of my anger. She probably faked her papers or was adopted at a young age. Girls like her don’t grow up in the system. She begins to shake, and the girl she was talking to turns her back.

  “Yo, you big dummy, over here!” my sister yells, taking my attention off the brat. “I bet you a thousand dollars I have the real Anna!”

  “Okay, that’s enough.” I grab her arm, pulling her back into line.

  “A thousand dollars, huh?”

  A blond meat head stops next to us, his massive frame creating a shadow over us. His white shirt is stretched so tight over his muscular chest it looks like it might rip in half. He has a few wrinkles around his brown eyes. I’d say he’s mid-thirties, but he keeps his body in shape, making him appear younger. His gaze moves from my sister to me, and his amused smile slips away.

  With furrowed brows, he takes in my appearance. “Yeah, okay,” he says after a beat. “She can move up, but I’ll be expecting my money, kid.” He chuckles and gestures for us to follow him.

  “Told you,” my proud sister whispers to me.

  Mr. Beefy has made her day because we’re ushered away from the line and into an office-like waiting room where several other girls who have features like mine sit. Tilly keeps whispering oh my god, over and over as we follow Mr. Beefy through the room of wannabe Anna’s and into a smaller room that looks like the interrogation room cops use, but instead of a table, there’s a wooden desk. Mr. Beefy takes the chair behind the desk and Tilly and I take the two chairs in front of it.

  He stares at the screen of the laptop in front of him. “Are you both interviewing?”

  “No, just Hayley.”

  My gaze snaps to my sister. “What?”

  She snorts. “I wanted this for you. I know where my birth mom is. I even have a few baby pictures of myself. It’s highly unlikely that I’m Anna Westling but you…” She shrugs. “It’s possible.”

  I laugh. “This is ridiculous. I’m only here because I thought you wanted to interview.” I get to my feet. “If you’re not doing this—” The panic in her eyes freezes me. I hate to see her upset.

  “Please, Hayley. Just interview. Please, for me? I’ll never ask you for anything else. You’re already here.”

  She looks like she’s about to fucking cry. I will never hear the end of it if I walk out now. Letting out a long breath, I drop back down and focus on Mr. Beefy. “Let’s get this over with.” I hand over my adoption papers.

  He shuffles through them and then drops them next to the computer. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Answer them honestly and to the best of your ability. If I like your answers, you’ll move on to the next step.” I nod. “What’s your earliest memory?” Not paying attention to me, he taps at the computer keys.

  I squint
. I have a collection of early memories, but the timeline is skewed. I’m not sure which one is the earliest. “Riding a bike,” I say.

  Tilly’s leg stops bouncing. “No, it’s not. You didn’t learn to ride a bike until you were twelve. I was there, and Dad recorded it.”

  “Shouldn’t you be running a DNA test on me?” I ask Mr. Beefy, ignoring my stupid sister.

  “There are thousands of girls here, you want me to test them all today?” He stands, glancing at my sister and then back at me. “You’re wasting my time if you’re going to lie. You don’t even want to be here.”

  Tilly jumps up, visibly shaking. “God, Hayley! Tell him. One of her earliest memories is being taken away from a foster family,” Tilly says in a rush. “She used to have nightmares about it.”

  I could smack her. That is nobody’s business. Pain slices through my chest at the memory of my foster family, but Tilly’s wrong, that’s not my earliest memory. That memory opens the floodgates to all the other families that didn’t want me. Memories that I’ve worked so hard to bury deep.

  Fuck.

  Plant in the corner, desk, concrete floor. I begin listing off the things in the room to help myself stay in the present and calm down. Two-way mirror. Wait, what? “Are we being watched?”

  “No.” Mr. Beefy slowly sits back down. “Sometimes but not right now.”

  Tilly’s gaze widens. “Aiden’s been back there?”

  Her obsession with him is too much. She’s willing to out my fucked-up past to meet him. I shoot her a death glare before turning back to the wall of muscle. “Next question.”

  He sighs. “How many homes were you in before you were adopted?”

  I narrow my eyes. “I didn’t keep count. If I had to guess, I’d say... twenty.”

  “Do you remember your birth parents or know who they are?” He types something into the computer. “You’ll be twenty in November. Did you look at your records when you turned eighteen?”

  I shake my head. “I was told my birth parents were some gang banger drug dealers.” I cross my arms.